


sharpen your teeth

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First War with Voldemort, Hate Sex, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-04 09:59:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: It’s a game.





	sharpen your teeth

The first time it happens, Bellatrix doesn’t remember it when she wakes.

There is only the body in her bed and the bruises on her thighs, the empty bottle of firewhiskey and the stale smell of cigarette smoke.

She jostles him awake, kicks him out of her bed. When she looks at his face, he’s just as confused as she is.

*

The second time it happens, it doesn’t happen at all.

There is only the build-up, only an argument. Only hissed insults and a lack of personal space. Only fury and the threat of something dangerous.

They’re not known for being friends.

They don’t have to be.

*

It turns into something of a pastime. Wind him up and watch him go.

It’s a great satisfaction to see a crack in the calm demeanour, to hear the drop in his voice. The switch from composed to menacing, from indifferent to threatening.

Anyone else would be scared -- they’ve all seen what he’s capable of, seen what he can do -- but Bellatrix... Bellatrix laughs.

*

He matches her insult for insult, dig for dig. Knows how to push her buttons until amusement turns to anger, until anger turns to bloodlust. Seeing her snap -- seeing her face grow hard, seeing the start of that deranged, out of control look in her eye -- it’s amusing to him. Just like it’s amusing for her to do the same.

Some would say they’re a match made in heaven.

Most would not.

*

The third time it happens, Bellatrix is struggling to breathe.

His hand is around her throat, his fingers easily restricting her air flow. Making it hard for her to move, to do anything. There are teeth biting their way down her neck, her chest, her body. Leaving blood and bruises in their wake.

When it’s done, when she’s left panting for breath and aching for a shower, Bellatrix smiles.

She considers it a victory.

*

It’s a game. A challenge as to who can make the other crack first.

Hate each other, pick at each other. Poke and jab until someone loses control. It’s their kind of fun.

For him, a win is a _real_ fight. Is a wand pressed to his throat and blazing eyes. Is angry magic and the threat of pain he knows will never come, will never be allowed to come.

For her, a win is a fuck. Is his body on top of hers, is his hands clutching at her flesh. Is red marks and purple stained skin.

Either way, their acts means very little. What matters most is proof of their victory.


End file.
